WickedFrost died.

A tragic curtain hanging accident. One of the leading causes of death in the Endless-Online community.

Obviously the title is click bait for the twitters and the facebook feed as I'm obviously not dead - but there was a time when I decided to kill the character. There was a period of nearly 2 years where I didn't come anywhere near the community. I deleted every account connected to WickedFrost. I gave away the game account. I got rid of the Endless Report.

When people asked me why I left I responded with the same bullshit. I got bored. I wanted to get away. Real life was busy. The game was dying.

None of that was really true.

I left because my daughter died. There are a few tears flowing as I type this because even though it was a couple of years ago - it doesn't go away. The people who tell you that time heals all wounds have never been wounded. Time gives you coping skills. You don't heal.

I've always been coy and vague in my reference to children. The Wiklets. There are 5. I buried one.

WickedFrost died that day. A lot of people died that day.

I did. A little bit. Hope. Optimism. Caring for other people. The world. The future. There was just pain and work which put the pain away for a little while. That's all I could do. I didn't know how to do anything else.

Routine. Formula. Which actually made me really, really good at my job. It's an amazingly sad reality for a writer when you realize that creativity is worth jack shit in a market economy that targets the broadest, most profitable demographic.

It's like when the Rock pops out from his Hollywood lifestyle - pops a crowd at a WWE event - and sings his greatest hits. "Finally, the Rock has come back for a PAAAAAAYCHECK!" and he gets it.

I was dead inside. I had no urge to create because one of the only things that I created that ever mattered - she was taken away. So I just did what I knew how to do - and they heaped the praise because money.

But there was nothing left of me outside of that. The work let me mindlessly avoid feeling. Feeling sucked. It also meant that I didn't spend time on things that I enjoyed.

Enjoyment. For a father who lost his daughter. I should say that there is nothing that I could have done to prevent her death. It was a medical inevitability and not failure. Still - try telling yourself that and see if it makes you feel like any less of a failure.

I couldn't enjoy anything. Enjoyment meant feeling something. Feeling something meant feeling anything. Feeling anything brought me back to her.

And I was angry.

I didn't feel the anger. I was the anger. There is a type of rage that exists that goes beyond normal descriptors for anger. It is the kind of rage that wants to destroy in the hope that perhaps in taking away from someone else you will at some universal scale not be alone in your grief.

But you can't do that sort of thing in real life. Or you shouldn't. Four Wiklets needed their father. Mrs. Wikky needed her husband. The place of employment needed its feature.

I needed someone to kill. I wanted to kill myself. I killed WickedFrost instead.

Weird. Virtual suicide.

That's what it was. WickedFrost for me was an avenue for feeling - enjoyment in the gaming community. Creativity - as the character was an outlet I used for writers block when I was trying to pound out a masterpiece from the keyboard and couldn't find the words. Myself - as a proxy for the punishment that I felt that I should have received instead of it being meted out on an infant daughter who did nothing on her own to deserve it. It must have been some sin of mine being punished.

So I killed him. Walked away. Dead to all joy.

That's how WickedFrost died.

Fortunately the internet is a great big metaphorical soap opera in which dead characters can come back to life with relative ease. That's what brings us here. There's a reason that I don't let go of this community. It's because it represents for me the journey of healing, forgiveness, resurrection. I honour her by living - and one of the ways that I live is through this character that I killed.

Now I know that the moment I hit publish - I've opened myself up to the trolls - I think I'm prepared for that. Actually - I think there's something profoundly life worthy in doing that: allowing yourself to be hurt - because every time you feel something it is a reminder that you can feel anything.

And when you can feel anything. You can feel love.

W.